J x H: A Sense of Belonging
by harlequintessence
Summary: Harleen Quinzel has been rehabilitated. Harleen Quinzel has no need for the Joker. Harleen Quinzel has been saved. (Harley Quinn has a great big problem with this.) Joker/Harley. Probably abandoned. R&Rs bring our favourite freaks back together faster!
1. The Suit

[ **Author's Note** **:** This'll be my first attempt on this account of a multi-chapter story! Exciting stuff, folks. R&Rs give me reasons to write.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Please. I beg you. Do not sue me.]

* * *

"Hell isn't other people. It's a common misconception. The truth of the matter is, Hell is a place filled with people - but without the one person you really wanna see. The problem ain't that other people are there - it's that you're missin' the only one you wanna be there." The blonde tucked a curl of hair behind her ear, a wry little smile twisting on her lips. " _That's_ what really stings about it. _That's_ why it's Hell. You're surrounded by folks, but you're actually alone."

The circle of chairs that stretched around her was empty, but in her mind's eyes, she could hear applause. She knew that the speech was good, even if there wasn't anyone around her to corroborate the fact. Her logic was sound, and the language was accessible. She curtsied to her invisible audience, blowing a kiss into the adoring crowd.

Behind her, real applause, sharp and echoing in her ears, and she spun on her heel. The woman in the white coat smiled at her, hands slowing to a halt. "That was _lovely_ , Harleen."

"Doctah Leland." Harleen muttered, looking up into the other woman's warm brown eyes. "You weren't s'posed to hear that. It was _personal_."

"I'm sorry, dear. I just came to check that you were all packed. Your ride is coming in twenty minutes. You're finally going home."

Harleen forced a smile, her blue eyes still so sad. Still so lonely, like half of her was missing. She wasn't whole. She was... shattered. There was a part of her heart that had been removed from her chest, and she was the lone survivor of an accident, and she so wished that she had perished with the others. "Yippee." she whispered, running a hand through her hair. It'd been so long since she left it down, and she still didn't like the feeling of loosened hair around her shoulders. "I'm a lucky, lucky girl."

Doctor Leland sighed, her own eyes turning sad. There was this wrinkle in her forehead that only appeared when she was worried or upset. Harleen had studied it a lot in the past few months-it came out quite a bit around her. "Oh, Harleen..."

"I'm packed. It's not like I'm bringin' a lot. Not a lotta mementos from this place." God, why was she bringing _anything_ except her costume? It wasn't like she was even going to wear it. She just wanted it. To... remind her. It still kind of smelled like Mista- the Joker's car. She just wanted to feel the smoothness of it against her fingers, and breathe in its scent. Remember how nice and tight it had been against her skin, and how much He'd adored seeing her in it. She still remembered the first time she'd put it on, and she'd stepped out in front of Him.

 _"Harley, if you don't come out of that dressing room in the next thirty seconds, I will leave you here." His voice was sharp through the curtain that separated them, and she'd rolled her eyes good-naturedly as she rolled the spandex over her shoulders. "I'm not kidding, young lady, if I have to come in there and pull you out by your pretty little pigtails, I will."_

 _She'd admired herself in the mirror, running her gloved hands over the smoothness of her costume, admiring the way that it hugged her curves so intimately. She gave herself a sharp nod before reaching up to smudge her lipstick ever so slightly. The red mark on the blackness of her glove caught her eye, and she smiled at it. Good. The contrast gave it a little kick. "Okay, okay, I'm comin'. Don't get your panties in a bunch."_

 _"Oh, Harley-kins, I would watch that tone with me." Mistah J's voice reached that dangerous decibel, and a shiver went down Harley's spine. She closed her eyes and reveled in the deliciousness of it all before dramatically throwing the curtain aside and posing, hand on her hip, tongue just barely brushing her upper lip._

 _And sweet Jesus, the sound of His sharp intake of breath meant more to her than a thousand compliments ever could. For just a second, she'd made Him lose control in a way that she never had in session. He'd let the foundations of His walls give way, just a bit, just for a moment. "Jesus." Mistah J arched an eyebrow, and then He reached out and touched her. Just a quick motion of fingertips against cheek, but it made her tummy do flips. "You look..." His voice trailed off, like He couldn't find the words. Or, more likely, that He wouldn't use the words that came to mind. Even in the asylum, He was always so careful not to compliment her fully. Not with words that she could put her finger on, reminding herself, He does love me, He said this... He wasn't that kind of person, and she didn't really expect Him to be. She didn't expect flowery words or boxes of chocolates. She'd had boyfriends like that. That wasn't what she wanted from Him. She'd been promised madness, and she delighted in the abundance in which He gave it to her._

 _"I look...?" Still, every girl liked to be told. Harley wasn't immune to her natural inclinations. She liked having her ego stroked as much as the next girl, even if the next girl happened to not be a hopelessly besotted, psychotic harlequin._

 _"You look like you're mine." His smile twisted, becoming more of a possessive little smirk, and something dark and primal twisted in Harley's heart. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears, keeping time to her pressing arousal. When He looked at her like that, like He needed her, or even wanted her... "You look like you were always meant to - like you belong by my side."_

 _"I do, Mistah J! Completely!"_

 _"I know, Harley-girl. Now come here; I think we might have time for a quick celebration of your self-realisation before we have to move on."_

 _And she moved, faster and more athletically than she ever had in gymnastics, because every pore of her being wanted to be in His arms. _

_And because He'd told her to._


	2. The Fight

The outside world was brighter than she remembered it being. The sun seemed to wash out the sky with the brightness of its glare, and Harleen realised with a start just how pale she'd grown in Arkham. When she'd looked at her hand, for a split second, she'd just seen bone-white skin and it had been _Him_. She'd felt His hands pressing against her hips, caught a whiff of the lavender detergent that she'd done the laundry with, and felt His tongue against the shell of her ear, and she'd been _home_.

The illusion was shattered with a second glance, and Harleen kicked angrily at her suitcase. She was done obsessing. She'd promised herself. Dr. Leland looked up at the sound of the roll-on _clunk_ ing against the ground, and Harleen waved with a large (albeit incredibly forced) smile. Sunk down and sat on the suitcase, checked her new watch. The ride that the Asylum was providing wasn't due for another twenty minutes or so.

Great. More time alone with her thoughts. Thank _God_ , there hadn't been _nearly_ enough time for that in Arkham! Especially when every thought came with that constant buzz of longing. That feeling of having misplaced something very important, but not being sure of what it is. Not that she didn't know what was missing; His very presence (or lack thereof) had left… almost an aura? Like there was a shadow following her, just out of the corner of her eye, and she didn't know if it was Him or Harley. She didn't know how much of a difference there was.

God, the world was quieter than it had been before. No snarling, no explosions, no rapid gunfire. No squealing tires, sniggering henchmen, or hysterical laughter. No crying. No yelling. There were distant car noises, beeping and tires on gravel, and she could hear birds. Just softly. Not pretty ones; no bluejays, these. Pigeons and crows were the closest one got in Gotham. Or… _bats_.

No. _No_. Harleen loved the batman. he had saved her. She owed him everything. She owed him this second chance at life, _that she was thankful for, Godammit_. It was Harley who hated him, and she only hated him because Mis - The _Joker_ told her to. _Harleen_ was better than that. She had to be. She wouldn't be a puppet anymore, not ever again. She'd realised that, sitting in the dark, whispering with arnie. _It's too late for me, Harley_ , he'd said. _I'm too old. He's too powerful, and I'm too weak. But you - there's still time, Harley - remember who the real puppetmaster is._

And she'd promised him that she would. If anyone knew anything about puppets, it was arnie, and for the most part, she trusted him. he was clever, and didn't have anything to gain from hurting her. And she _had_ been a marionette to Him. She knew that now. He'd manipulated her every move, playing her feelings about Him for all that they were worth. But _fuck,_ she missed Him. It was like all the light in her life had disappeared when He had. And it really had just… been a disappearance. Here one moment, and then… Gone. Like a match that had set her life aflame, and then burned out, quickly as He'd come.

He could be dead. He had never disappeared for this long (one year, eight months, thirteen days and four hours. But who's counting?) before, not without some sort of message - if not to her, than to Gotham. A cryptic message, or a parting massacre… Something.

And even though she wasn't supposed to, even though she was meant to be _thankful_ and praying that He'd never return, she was worried about Him. Even if He was a monster, even if everything that she thought they'd had was a lie, He was still a human being, and He had been her patient. That same instinct that had caused Harleen to break down at the sight of the Joker's bruised and bloodied body, all that time ago, called to her now. And it _wasn't_ romantic, Harleen told herself through gritted teeth. It was… maternal, maybe, or just her proof that she wasn't a complete nutcase. She could still feel sympathy.

And after her year and a half in Arkham, Harleen knew that His disappearance hadn't been her fault. Just because they'd fought… Just because He had told her that she… _No_. Don't think about it don't think about it don't think about it. She let out a little sob, dropping her head into her hands. Why did He still have such a hold over her?

"Bastard…" Harleen whispered, her voice breaking, and then she flinched. After all this time, she was still expecting Him to hit her. Smack her back into place. But _not anymore_. She could say _whatever the hell she wanted_. The prospect of all that freedom made her tremble, just for a moment. It'd been so long since she made her own choices. Even in Arkham, the doctors made all the decisions for you. Christ, it'd been something like… ten years, since she made her own choices? She wasn't sure she remembered _how_ \- though she knew she'd never been very good at it. Usually picked parties. Or boys. Or girls.

Well, no boys or girls _now_. Nope. She'd learned her lesson. She wasn't good enough at picking healthy human beings (read: Poison Ivy) (read: Mist-) well, you get the idea. Dating was a mistake. She was better off alone. Always had been. Shame it had taken her so long to realise it.

Shame it had taken Him to teach her.

* * *

 _His hand fit so perfectly around her throat, like it had been made for that very purpose. He didn't even need two of them to choke her, not when her neck was so slender and His hands were so big. They fit together, like puzzle pieces. And sure, maybe that was cliche, but when the shoe fits (also like a puzzle piece! Clever girl, Harl.)... And she always appreciated that incredibly intense look that accompanied His hands around her neck. It was one of the few times she ever felt like He was truly focusing on her - when He was breaking her. Such a perfectionist when it came to destruction._

 _Her vision swam, black spots appearing in the corners of her eyes. She tried to focus in on His face, staring at Him with such trust. Such unbridled affection. And not for the first time, she wondered if this was it. If this was the time He didn't stop. If this was to be the time that she fell into sleep and did not wake again. She never really enjoyed wondering if this was the time that she died. A side effect of such passion._

 _As quickly as He'd begun, Mistah J released her, and she sagged, gasping. Sucking in air gratefully as colour rushed back into the world. "You're slipping, Harl." He said coldly, a smirk tugging at the corner of His lips. "That was only four minutes thirty seconds." Without warning, He backhanded her across the face, His own visage contorted into an exaggerated mockery of disappointment. "You can't keep me entertained for even five minutes. What, exactly, is the point of you?" Every word was spoken so lazily, like He hadn't even thought about it, but for the sheer savagery behind them._

 _Tears started in Harley's eyes, and she hiccupped out a little sob as she pressed a hand to her cheek. It wasn't even about the impact, but about the sentiment behind it. Mistah J was right - if she wasn't amusing Him, what was her purpose? She only existed to make His life easier. To make Him happy. To be His muse (That one wasn't officially in the job description, but that didn't mean it wasn't a little true. He wasn't as subtle as He thought that He was, not that she'd ever tell Him that.). "I'm sorry, Puddin', I can change. I'll be better. We can practice! It'll be fun!"_

" _No. You aren't getting better. You're just getting worse. You've been getting progressively so for a while now, but I've let it go." He shook His head mournfully. "I'm too soft on you. I was hoping you'd get it together, but I see now that it's a losing battle. I don't think there's any saving you."_

 _She was clutching at Him now, a pitiful moan like that of a dying animal coming from deep within her, tears streaming down her face as choked sobs tore from her throat. "No no no, Mistah J, I'll do anything, just please don't leave me, I'm nothin' without you, please!" He shook her off, but not even with disgust. That, at least, would have been gratifying. No, He shook her off like you would a burr on your clothing - like an afterthought. No real emotion behind it. "Don't give up everything we have, everything we've had, not without giving me a chance to change!"_

 _And Mistah J laughed. He laughed, but it wasn't the one that made her laugh along with Him, the one that made her heart race, the one that caused her to truly feel alive and aflame and like the best and only place for her in the world was by His side. No, this laugh sent chills down her spine and caused gooseflesh to ripple up and down her arms, and for the first time, Harley thought she understood what their victims felt like before they died. This tightness in their chests, the roaring of their pulse in their ears, this distant and pulsing nausea… This was what accompanied their final moments, as she and Mistah J laughed._

 _Well, she wasn't laughing now._

 _He was wiping tears from His eyes now, and then He regarded her with a mirthless smile. "All we've had, Harley?" His eyes glittered with a certain cruelty, and they pinched at the corners. He was surpressing laughter, Harley realised with a dull jolt. His shoulters were bobbing up and down in silent, sadistic joy. "All we've meant to one another?" All the laughter left Him, suddenly, and that was almost worse than before. The sudden silence. "Christ, punkin, I knew you were naive, but I never thought you were truly stupid."_

" _I… I don't understand…?"_

" _This isn't a romance novel, Harleykins." He simpered. "Don't you understand? It was all utterly meaningless. You were hired help, not my fucking soulmate." He looked at her, then, right in the eyes, emerald green against baby blue, and His smile threatened to split His face. "It never meant anything to me, Pooh. I told you what you wanted to hear so that you'd do what I wanted."_

 _It was like being slugged in the gut. All those doctors, heroes, her_ _ **friends**_ _\- they'd all said He didn't really care, again and again, and she'd shrugged them off with a chripy: "You don't know 'im like I do!" And they'd all been right. All along. Harley looked at Him, her lips parted slightly, tears streaming down her face. "No," she moaned, looking at Him, begging Him to laugh, call it a joke,_ _ **anything**_ **,** _just please don't leave her stranded here. "Ya don't mean that… Heh… Mistah J, you're such a kidder, but I know you love me really."_

 _He caught her chin in His hand, forcing her to shut up, to look up at Him. He looked her in the eyes, and there was a flicker of something there, something trapped and clawing to escape, and then it was gone. He leaned in, kissed her, just once. Softly, not like His usual bruising onslaughts at all. Almost like a goodbye. His mouth tasted sweet, like He'd been chewing gum earlier, and Harley melted into Him, the previous few moments forgotten almost immediately. After a minute, He pushed her away, and there was something heartwrenchingly sad about His expression before He broke into yet another smile, disarmingly bright._

" _It was all meaningless, Princess. Now get the hell out."_

 _And she hadn't seen Him -_ _ **Gotham**_ _hadn't seen Him - since._

[Author's Note: Did Mistah J mean it? Let's find out. R and Rs give me inspiration to write another chapter.]


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